The Cairo Trilogy: Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street by Naguib Mahfouz
Kamal left his friends shortly before sunset. As He walked along the path beside the house heading for the gate he heard a voice cry, “There he is.”
Enchanted, he looked up and saw Ai'da at one of the first-floor windows. She was pointing him out as she held Budur, who sat on the window ledge. Kamal stopped below them, looking up with a smiling face at the child, who waved her small hand at him. He also glanced from time to time at the face in whose form and expressions his hopes for life and the afterlife were vested. Hisheart was colliding drunkenly with his ribs. Budur waved to him once more, and Ai'da asked her, “Are you going to him?”
The little girl nodded yes, and A'ida laughed at this wish that would not be realized. Encouraged by her laughter, Kamal examined her carefully, losing himself in the beautiful coloration of her eyes and in the exquisite meeting point of her eyebrows. He recalled the reverberation of her throaty laughter and the inflections of her warm voice until he was sighing with emotion and passion. Since the situation obliged him to speak, he asked his beloved, “Did she think of me at the beach?”
Mov;ng her head back a little, A'ida said, “Ask her yourself. What you two think of each other is none of my business”. Then before lie could utter a word, she added, “Did you remember her?”
“Oh,” he thought. “This is like Fahmy reviewing lessons with me on the roof while Maryam listened.”
“She was never absent from my thoughts,” he answered fervently.
A voice called to the girls from inside. A'ida straightened up and lifted Budur in her arms. As she was about to leave she made this final comment: “What an amazing love!” Then she disappeared from this window.
86
AMINA AND KAMAL were the only remaining patrons of the coffee hour, and even he left the house before sunset. Then his mother stayed on there by herself or called Umm Hanafi to keep her company until it was time for bed. Yasin had left a void behind him. Although Amina tried not to mention him, Kamal felt isolated by his brother's departure, and the delightful enjoyment he had found in this gathering was spoiled. In the old days coffee had been an excuse for conversation. Now it was everything to the mother. She drank so much that, without her realizing it, preparation and consumption of the coffee became her sole entertainment. She would drink five, six, or even ten cups in succession.
Kamal anxiously kept track of her excesses and cautioned her about the consequences. She answered him with a smile as though to say, “What would I do if I weren't drinking coffee?” In a confident and assured tone she told him, “There's nothing harmful about coffee.”
They sat facing each other, she on the sofa between the doors to the bedroom and the dining room, Kamal on one between the entries to his bedroom and his study. She was bent over the coffeepot, which was half buried in the brazier's coals. He was silent and staring vacantly into space. Suddenly she asked, “What are you thinking about, I wonder? You always look as though you're thinking about something important.”
He sensed the criticism in her tone and replied, “The mind constantly finds things to occupy it.”
She looked up questioningly at him with her small, honey-colored eyes. Then she said somewhat shyly, “It's been ages since we found time for a conversation.”
“Really?” he wondered. That past was gone forever - the era of religious lessons and stories about prophets and demons, when he had been insanely devoted to her. That era had come to an end. What would they discuss today? Except for meaningless chatter there was absolutely nothing for them to say to each [other. He smiled, as though to apologize for both past and future silences.
Then he said, “We talk to each other whenever we have something to discuss.”
She replied gently, “People who want to talk set no limits on their conversations, but you seem always to be absent or absent-minded___”
After reflecting a bit she added, “You read a lot. You read as much during your vacation as when you're in school. You never get enough rest. I'm afraid you've worn yourself out.”
In a tone that indicated he did not welcome this interrogation, Kamal answered, “There are many hours in a day. Spending a few of them reading won't wear anyone out. It's nothing but a pastime, even if it's a beneficial one.”
After some hesitation she observed, “I'm afraid reading's the reason you seem so quiet and preoccupied….”
“No,” he thought. “It's not reading. If only you knew how it distracts me from my discomfort”. Something else had been absorbing him, and he could not escape from it even when he was reading. His was a condition without a cure that she or anyone else could provide. He was sick with love, devoted but at his wits' end, not knowing what to wish for beyond his suffering.
Slyly tie said, “Reading's like coffee. There's nothing harmful about it. Don't you want me to become a scholar like my grandfather?”
Delight and pride shone in her pale, oval face. She answered, “Of course. I wish that wholeheartedly, but I want to see you in good spirits all the time.”
Smiling, he said, “I'm in as good spirits as you could wish. So don't trouble your mind with idle speculation.”
He had noticed that her concern for him had increased in recent years more than was necessary or desirable. Her devotion, solicitude, and apprehension about anything that might harm him or that she imagined might - had begun to engage her mind to a degree that made him uncomfortable, prompting him to defend his freedom and dignity. Yet he never lost sight of this development's causes, which included Fahmy's death and the misery she had endured. Thus Kamal never overstepped the bounds of affection and politeness in defense of his independence.
“I'm happy to hear that from you, if it's really true. All I desire is your happiness. I prayed for you today at the shrine of our master al-Husayn. I hope God may answer my prayer.”
“Amen.”
He watched her raise the coffeepot to fill her cup for the fourth time. The corners of his mouth spread open in a faint smile. He remembered how a visit to the mosque of al-Husayn had once seemed an impossible dream for her. Now she visited it whenever she went to the cemetery or to see her two daughters on Sugar Street. But what an oppressive price she had paid for this limited freedom. He too nourished impossible dreams. What price would be exacted from him if he was to fulfill them? Yet, any payment, no matter how great, would seem insignificant if he could.
Emitting a forced laugh, he observed, “The visit to al-Husayn is certainly linked to unforgettable memories….”
Smiling, she felt her collarbone, which she had broken during her first trip there, and said, “And to lasting results.”
With a modicum of enthusiasm Kamal said, “You're not a prisoner in the house as you once were. You've gained the right to visit Khadija, Aisha, and our master al-Husayn as often as you want. Imagine what you would have missed if Father had not relaxed the rules.”
She looked up at him with confused embarrassment, for the reference to a distinction she had won as a result of losing a child troubled her. Then she bowed her head despondently, as if to say, “I wish I had remained as I was and kept my son”. She did not air the feelings raging in her breast for fear of upsetting Kamal. Apologizing for the freedom she enjoyed, she said, “My occasional excursions are not for my entertainment. I go to al-Husayn to pray for you. I visit your sisters to reassure myself about them and to resolve the problems no one else seems able to handle.”
He had no difficulty guessing which problems she meant. Knowing she had visited Aisha and Khadija that day, he asked, “Anything new at Sugar Street?”
Sighing, she answered, “The usual.”
He shook hishead sadly. Then with a smile he remarked, “Khadija has a gift for quarreling.”
Amina responded sorrowfully, “Her mother-in-law told me that any conversation with her threatens to end badly.”
“It seems her mother-in-law is growing senile too.”
“Her age is excuse enough. But what's your sister's excuse?”
“Did you si
Amirta laughed in a way that suggested she knew only too well what he meant. She sighed again and said, “Your sister has a hot temperament. She is quick to bridle at even the most sincere advice. And woe to me if I'm polite to her mother-in-law out of respect for her age and status. Then she'll ask me with fiery eyes, ‘Are you for me or against me?’ There is no strength or might save from God. ‘For me or against me!’ Are we at war, son? Strangely enough, at times her mother-in-law is at fault, but Khadija carries the fight to such extremes that she ends up in the wrong.”
[t would be impossible for anything to make Kamal angry at Khadija. She had been and still remained his second mother and an inexhaustible source of affection. How did his sister Aisha compare with her beautiful, giddy Aisha who had absorbed all the characteristics of the Shawkat family?
“What did the investigation reveal?”
“This time the argument began with the husband, and that's unusual. When I entered their quarters, they were having a violent dispute. I was amazed that something had agitated the good man and intervened to make peace. Then I learned the cause for all of it. She had made up her mind to dust the apartment, but he was still sleeping at nine. So she insisted on rousing him, and he woke up angry. Feeling obstinate for once, he refused to get out of bed. His mother heard the row and was quick to come. Then the fires Qared. This quarrel was scarcely concluded before another one broke out, because Ahmad returned from playing in the street with mud on his shirt. She hit him and wanted him to take a bath. The boy appealed to his father for help, and the man came to his rescue. So a second fight broke out in one morning.”
Laug] ling, Kamal asked, “What did you do?”
“I tried my best but did not succeed. She scolded me for a long time because I had attempted to mediate. She told me, 'You should have taken my side the way she stood up for him.'”
Sighi ig a third time, she continued: “I told Khadija, ‘Don't you remember how you saw me act when I was with your father?’ She answered sharply, 'Do you think there's another man in the whole world like Father?'”
Uninvited, the vision of Abd al-Hamid Bey Shaddad and his wife, Satiiya Hanim, popped into Kamal's imagination. They were walking side by side from the veranda to their Minerva automobile, which was parked by the gate of the mansion. They did not seem a master and his servant but two equal friends conversing easily with each other, with her arm draped over his. When they reached the vehicle, the bey stepped aside to allow the lady to climb in first.
“Will you ever get to see your parents act like this?” he wondered. “What a silly idea!”
The couple walked with an air of distinction befitting the parents of his beloved. Although her mother was as old as his, she was wearing an expensive coat, which was a marvel of taste, elegance, and style. Her face was unveiled and attractive, although it did not compare with the angelic countenance of her daughter. There emanated from her a fragrant perfume and a captivating elegance. He wished he knew what they discussed and their manner of agreeing and disagreeing, if they ever did differ. He was eager to learn about this life, which was linked to his beloved's by the firmest ties and bonds.
“Do you remember,” he asked himself, “how you gazed at her like a worshipper viewing great priests and high church dignitaries?”
He told his mother calmly, “If Khadija's character was more like yours, she would be assured a happy life.”
She smiled with delight, although her pleasure ran afoul of a bitter truth - namely, that her disposition, no matter how mild, could not always guarantee her happiness. Then with the smile still on her lips to conceal her gloomy thoughts, which she was apprehensive he might detect, she said, “God alone is the guide. May our Lord make you even more sweet-tempered than you are, so you'll be a person loving others and loved by them.”
He quickly asked her, “What do you think of me?”
With conviction she replied, “You're already like that and better.”
“But how can angels love you?” he wondered. “Call up her blissful image and contemplate it a little. Can you imagine her unable to sleep or left prostrate by love and passion? That's too remote even for a fantasy. She's above love, for love is a defect remedied only by the loved one. Be patient and don't torment your heart. It's enough that you're in love. It's enough that you see her. Her image shines into your spirit and her dulcet tones send intoxicating delight through you. From the beloved emanates a light in which all things appear to be created afresh. After a long silence, the jasmine and the hyacinth beans begin to confide in each oth er. The minarets and domes fly up over the evening glow into the sky. The landmarks of the ancient district hand down the wisdom of past generations. The existential orchestra echoes the chirps of the crickets. The dens of wild beasts overflow with tenderness. Grace adorns the alleys and side streets. Sparrows of rapture chatter over the tombs. Inanimate objects are caught up in silent meditation. The rainbow appears in the woven mat over which your feet step. Such is the world of my beloved.”
“I went by al-Azhar on my way to al-Husayn and ran into a large demonstration with people chanting slogans. It reminded me of the past. Has something happened, son?”
He answered, “The English do not wish to leave peacefully.”
With a look of anger sparkling in her eyes she said sharply, “The English… those Englishmen! When will God's just vengeance fall on them?” She had felt a similar aversion to Sa'd Zaghlul himself for a long time, until Kamal had finally convinced her it was impossible to detest a person Fahmy had loved. With obvious anxiety she asked, “What do you mean, Kamal? Are we returning to the days of suffering?”
He replied resentfully, “Only God knows!”
Her discomfort was apparent in her facial contractions. She said, “May God preserve us from suffering. We'll leave them to the wrath of Almighty God. This is the best policy. To throw ourselves to destruction is madness. Let us take refuge with God.”
“Don't alarm yourself. Death is inescapable. People die for one reason or another - or for none at all.”
She responded indignantly, “I don't deny that what you say is true, but I dislike your tone.”
“How should I talk?”
With compelling emotion she said, “I want you to state that you agree it's sinful for a man to risk his life.”
Trying to hide his smile, he gave in: “I agree.”
She looked at him skeptically and begged, “Say that with your heart, not your tongue.”
“I'm speaking with my heart.”
“What an enormous gap there is between ideal and reality,” Kamal thought. “You zealously strive for the ultimate in religion,politics, thought, and love, but mothers think only of their children's security. What mother would want to bury a son every five years? The quest for ideals in life necessarily requires sacrifices and martyrs. Body, mind, and spirit are sacrificed. Fahmy gave up a promising life in return for a magnificent death. Will you be able to meet death as heroically as he did? You would not hesitate to make this choice, even though that would crush your unfortunate mother'sheart. A death that would drain blood from one wound to stanch others… what a love it would be! Yes, but as you know', A'fda, the love between me and Budur is not ofthat kind. The truly amazing love is mine for you. It testifies on behalf of the world against pessimistic adversaries. It has taught me that death is not the most atrocious thing we have to dread and that life is not the most splendid thing we can desire. I have learned that some facets of life are so rough and repulsive that death is sought instead and some so smooth and sustaining that immortality is desired. How captivating are the world's appeals to you in its indescribable voice, not too high or low like a violin playing the middle note of a scale resonant and pure as a light (if you can imagine this) colored sky blue and pulsing with conviction. These calls are an invitation to the empyrean.”
87
“NEXT THURSDAY, putting my trust in God, I'll get married.”
“May
“I'll be successful if I please my father.”
“Your father isn't angry at you, praise God.”
“The only guests will be family members. You won't find anything there to upset you.”
“Fine, fine!”
“I wish Mother would come, but…”
“It's r ot our fault. The important thing is for the evening to pass quietly.”
“Naturally. That hasn't escaped me. I know your tastes as well as anyone. There will be nothing to the wedding beyond the marriage contract and some refreshments.”
“Fine. May our Lord guide you to the right path.”
“I've asked Kamal to give my greetings to his mother and to request her not to deprive me of the benefit of her prayers and to forgive me….”
“Of course. Naturally.”
“Please let me hear you say again that you're not angry with me.”
“I'm tiot angry at you. By God I hope you're destined to find success and prosperity. God hears our prayers.”
Matters did not turn out according to the wishes of al-Sayyid Ahmad. He was forced to go along with his son for fear of jeopardizing their relationship. Hisheart was too tender for him to quarrel seriously with Yasin, let alone to sever ties with him. Al-Sayyid Ahmad had agreed to hand over his eldest son to Bahija's daughter and to sanction by his presence the wedding that would bring his former mistress into the family circle. Fie had rejected Amina's attempt at intervention when she had declared her wish that Fahmy's brother and sisters should be prevented from attending Yasin's marriage to Maryam.
He had told her in a peremptory tone, “That's a silly idea. Some men marry their brother's widow, in spite of their love and devotion for him. Maryam wasn't married to Fahmy. She wasn't even engaged to him. It's ancient history, from six years ago. I won't deny that he's made a poor choice, but for a mule he's got good intentions. He's hurting himself more than anyone else. He could have found a better family, and the girl's divorced. It's in God's hands. Yasin bears full responsibility for this.”